#i need to SLEEP

[korn-dawg]

loser!ellie who loses her shit when she sees you show up to your date at the mall in a miniskirt

loser!ellie who can’t stop lagging behind to take quick peeks at your ass

loser!ellie whose pupils blow out at the sight of your thighs when you sit down

loser!ellie who lets you drag her into any and every store, following behind you like a puppy

loser!ellie who eyes a strap in spencer’s but is too embarrassed to say anything

loser!ellie who’s never bored of watching you try things on, giving her honest opinion on every item of clothing you walk out with on

loser!ellie who pays for almost everything, backing off with a small pout whenever you firmly insist it’s your turn to pay

loser!ellie who gets embarrassed when you lead her into a victoria’s secret, blushing furiously and averting her eyes as if the mannequins were real people

loser!ellie who complains of a headache in bath and body works, but insists you take your time to enjoy yourself when you suggest going somewhere else

loser!ellie who asks very politely to take you home afterwards

loser!ellie who lets you pull her into her bedroom and push her up against the door with no resistance whatsoever

loser!ellie who helps you take off her belt so nicely when you struggle with the buckle, adding a mumbled “sorry, let me do it for you.”

loser!ellie whose legs give out as you suck on her cunt whilst she’s against her bedroom door, giving you no warning as she just topples over onto you

loser!ellie who’s absolutely mortified and can’t stop apologizing as you giggle and try to reassure her

loser!ellie who returns the favor eagerly after you calm her down and move to the bed, hands trembling as she spreads your legs and buries her face between them

loser!ellie who tries to maintain eye contact but gets embarrassed when you let out a rather loud moan, opting to just close her eyes instead

loser!ellie who sucks on your clit like it’s a dumdum lollipop, tongue swirling around it with hyper focus on not overstimulating you

loser!ellie who cleans the both of you up and let’s you nap on her chest after, her rambling on about a comic book fading as you drift off to sleep

[heartmaddie]

childhood best friend! isagi yoichi who had made it clear that no matter how important his next game was, you would always be his number one priority. he would always assure you of this, regardless of how adverse you were to the idea. You thought he cared too much, and he didn’t find anything wrong with it. 

Isagi was somewhat upset with how you had kept your illness a secret, and he had only found out through his own parents. He clutched the warm soup enclosed in thin plastic close to his chest, offering any semblance of warmth to his aching, frigid heart, swelling from not only winter, but the curated image of you, unwell in a lonely bed. 

It was your congested, but saccharine voice that called out to him, which overwhelmed him with tepidity. His feet moved to reach you, hands coming to gently rest against the heat of your forehead as a deep sigh escaped chapped lips.

“You should’ve called me.” He murmured, voice never accusatory within your presence. The fever which tormented your weakened body made your nod less pronounced, a heaviness fell upon his chest at your state. Sapphire welled with concern as he found himself making clumsy movements to offer you any sort of comfort. 

Isagi’s eyes never left you, trained on every movement as he pampered you, spoon-feeding reheated soup into your scratchy throat as an undeniably soft expression adorned him. He could never verbalise how deeply his emotions for you ran.

Under his fingers was where you fell tranquil, and there was something that wanted to pull him impossibly closer, but his better judgement overwhelmed him. Gluing his body to your side as gentle touches pressed a cool towel against your sweltering forehead.

Lips ajar, he was jealous of the plush which your head laid upon, yearning for it to be nothing but himself. 

The room was oddly quiet, saved from the casual conversations which would usually transpire between the both of you, with your legs draped across his thighs in only the most intimate manner. It was cruel, almost — how you could act so familiarity with him without commitment. 

His heart ached tormentingly, he could rip the organ from his chest and there would be nothing there but the emptiness of you, as now an imprint had been left during the lifetimes you had loved each other before now. He let his fingers curl around yours almost too tightly, a mere comparison to how deeply his soul wished to embrace yours once again.

Regardless of the ache which weighed his shoulders now daily, Isagi truly didn’t mind. After all, he would let you hurt him over and over again until you were inevitably his. 

(can u tell i. lost track of the story midway)

©heartmaddie all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

special tag for @dearru

bllk taglist ; @solvisun , @manjirosanoswifey , @chlosology , @levihanmyotp , @sahrii

@x-vivi-v , @t3chn0chan , @lizbix , @yur1ash , @itoshisaesss

@elfiaa , @jals-stuff , @marcia-11111 , @reocidal , @goobiescooby

@rink1sser , @definitelynotanalien , @sirhamburrger , @vertejay , @reigensuperstar

@haitanibros0007 , @vayahatesu , @im-jasmine , @kwirui , @x3nafix ,

@seistrawberrie , @kenyuukissme , @neeeooon , @werfiedeii

form to be added to taglists

[urconeyislandbby]

it’s like 4am and i just watched priscilla again and i’m literally drinking a matcha latte and i might dye my hair and i’m expecting a package later. never kys!!

[lovelylulib]

You spend twenty years of your life hearing amazing stories about your father, wondering what he looks like, what physical traits of him you have, and suddenly, he's standing in front of you, and he's not just what you imagined, but so much more.

"So, do i look like him?"

I FINALLY listened The Ithaca saga and it was really good!

I just imagined Telemachus' reaction after waiting and wanting to see his father for so long... it must have been a big surprise!

[nira-mirror]

Pov: He opened the door in this

This was created as a quote tweet I made on Twitter for this lovely man right here 😀

[oobbbear]

If Steve and bill have a decent sibling relationship au, I can’t be wrong if canon doesn’t exist

And yes they’re basically my oc now

[tizzymcwizzy]

i told myself i was gonna work on my adrinette comic,,, and then i fully did not

[liceadam]

[aradidnt]

we are grimdark dave posting

[jijimachu]

Least homoerotic sport

[randomflower-in-a-field]

Damien saying "I know a guy" but it's just Marinette in various costumes

I have this idea that won't leave me alone, so I thought I'd share it so that others may be cursed with thinking about it too.

(This can be read as either sibling or dating Daminette)

Damien is all grown up and joined the Justice League as a permanent hero. Everyone knows he was Robin, so they think there won't be any surprises. Until there's a big mission and they need to infiltrate somewhere and plant cameras for evidence (or something). However, this place is a fortress (like the best anti-hero security money can buy) and the only way in is through the vents which are too small for humans to fit through.

The Justice League meeting turns into one big loud argument. Until Damien says, "I know a guy."

Obviously, he's very dodgy about his contact, but he says they can be trusted. Since, he's Robin, they let it slide.

The Justice League is all waiting at the contact spot when Marinette pulls up. They're confused, Damien is light-tipped, and she's in her multimouse ensemble looking all cute.

Marinette pulls off the mission then dips and Damien is stubborn even when Batman questions him. (Could be either good parent or bad parent Bruce Wayne).

Eventually, they let it drop. Until another big mission happens and they need a specific skill set and Damien says, "I know a guy." Cue Marinette with a different miraculous.

This keeps happening.

The Justice League assumes all the girls are different people and they're very confused like, "Robin, where do you keep finding these girls?"

Cue lots of half thought-out shenanigans

[yuu9o]

A Househusband (2)?💚

Would he wait for mc like a good puppy in front of the door?

Reference: Gokushofudou

[thevoidstaredback]

Danny couldn't tell you what he expected, but it most definitely wasn't this.

Time and Space were weird in the Infinite Realms, both bending to the will of their masters and no one all at once. They didn't follow a line or a path. Time and Space did as they wanted. Fitting, considering who their masters are.

The first time Danny was ten years old, his Grandfather killed him. He remembers that, in an effort to save him, his mother submerged his body in the Lazarus Pits he and his brother had been warned about ever going near.

As it was explained to him, the Infinite Realms has a base level of sentience at the very least. She allows herself to peak into the worlds She cradles to keep an eye on them. She found Danny when his mother had lowered him into the water and She claimed him as Her own. She bent Time to Her will, making Danny a toddler again, before bending Space to drop him in the world that would most allow him to grow. She promised that She would come back for him when the time was right.

The first time Danny was fourteen, after the second time he had been ten, he died. The parents he had learned to accept as his own tried to open an unnatural gateway into the Infinite Realms. He was the one to turn it on. The electricity of the mortal world killed him, but the energy from the Infinite Realms revived him.

He remembers the whispers barely heard under his own screams. Whispers and imprints of "I'm sorry" and "I do not mean to hurt you" and "You will only grow stronger" and "Welcome back, my champion".

Danny can count on one hand the number of times he's felt safe between the first time he was six and the first time his was fourteen. He can tell you the names of exactly two places he has never felt the need to hide from.

The day Danny turned fifteen for the first time, he told his parents what happened to him. He knew, instinctually, that they would not understand, that they are researchers before they are parents. But he held onto the hope that had been trained out of him when he was first four years old. He had hoped that they would go against all odds and accept and help him.

He shut down the portal the very next day. He destroyed it and all of his parents' lives work. He would not stand by and let them hurt his people when he could not be there to interfere. He escaped back into the embrace of the Infinite Realms through Vlad's portal, giving him the Order to destroy it. The only way for the citizens of the Realms to enter the mortal worlds was to use natural portals, as unstable and unpredictable as they are. He would not risk them again.

He finds himself wandering listlessly, letting the Realms take him where She wants him to go. Sometimes She takes him to places that are completely empty, places where he can mourn what he lost without anyone finding him. Sometimes She takes him to his mentors and friends. Sometimes She takes him where he needs to be.

Danny finds the boy just as the natural portal closes behind him, the sickly green and black oozing like a festering wound.

The boy looks similar to Danny. His hair is spiked, his clothing dulled shades of a hero's costume under a black cloak, a mask covering his eyes, his body being more filled out to match his age. But Danny, on every level of understanding that he is and ever will be capable of, knows that this is his brother.

"Damian?" he whispers. The Realms push him forward. "Damian!"

Danny cradles the body of his brother, slowly sinking to the ground the Realms produce for him to land on. He carefully peels the mask from his face and lays it beside the katana on the ground.

As expected of anyone who finds their way into the Infinite Realms without proper protections, Damian has no pulse. He is not breathing. He is cold. The wound under his sternum is not bleeding.

Danny brushed his thumbs under Damian's eyes, his hands on his cheeks. "What did they do to you, ahki?"

Despite having no mortal ability to do so, Damian's eyes opened. He started ahead, blinking when his green eyes met Danny's. "Danyal?"

Tears fell from his eyes as he nodded. "Hi, Damian. You're here early."

Tears fell from Damian's eyes as well. He knew where he was. There was only one explanation. He couldn't feel himself breathing, nor could he hear his heart beat or his blood flow. There was no pain from where his mother had run him through.

"She killed me!" Damian cried into his brother's shoulder.

Danny held him tighter. "I'm so sorry," No one should ever have to go like that.

"Father couldn't save me."

"It's okay."

"Dick and Tim and Jason and Cass-!"

"Shh, ahki. You will see them again. I'll make sure of it."

The brothers held each other as they cried. The Realms wrapped Herself around the boys, comforting them as she could. Her champion and his brother, both children She had claimed and would protect.

Part 1 Storyboard

@anarinette

[lip-scrub]

[charlesxavierthirster3000]

Loops and Steel — L.Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader

Summary: Your love for crocheting is apparent across the whole school, but a sense of reluctance clouds your vision at the thought of gift-giving towards Logan.

CW/Tags: fluff, kinda drags idk I'm sorry, REALLY stupid ending, not proofread I'm too lazy and it's sinus season, we have time manipulation powers guys, no use of Y/N, don't like don't read.

A/N: HELLO long time no fic guys (I'm going insane please help) this is honestly like so stupid idk why it's so FUCKING long hello???? Ik it's alr in the tags but the ending is like so extremely fucking stupid I'm humiliated....... Anyways guys try to enjoy this hahahaahhaha don't flame me pls

WC: 2.4K (holy SHIT girl) / Navigation

You had a thing amongst the X-Men— you were notorious for crocheting impromptu gifts for everyone, predominantly for winter use. No one in their right mind would voluntarily wear yarn in the summer, unless they had a thing for heat strokes. 

Well, to be fair, the craft store situated nearest to the mansion only sold the hefty type of yarn, so you physically couldn’t make anything light. But still.

Your hyperfixation on fibre arts had reached most of them— Scott with earmuffs which could be worn comfortably over his visor without disrupting the toggle, Storm and her suit-complimenting beanies, and Rogue who had received so many pairs of gloves she had to dedicate a whole drawer for them in her room. At this point, you'd woven your way through the whole mansion, pretty much everyone having received a small gift; the students with a 70% chance of having a simple keychain.

Everyone, except Logan.

It's not that you weren't fond of him—in fact, he was even up there with Rogue and the others— it's just.. he was always so reclusive. Yeah, you could hold a decently consistent conversation with him without breaking a sweat, but he seemed the type to brush gifts or tokens of appreciation off without a second thought. That’s what made you contemplate bestowing your handmade offerings of affection upon him.

If you wanted to say you were afraid of impending rejection, it wouldn’t be true. You’d handed some keychains to a few uptight kids you taught, and the sight of the metallic glint attached to a scrap of vibrant yarn in the rubbish didn’t affect you. Perhaps it was because they were only a clique of immature youngsters, but your ego wasn’t usually even touched that easily no matter the level of maturity.

So why were you so uncertain?

Inwardly, you somewhat knew that there was a chance— you craved his validation. Which was really, very pathetic. Your ego was not nearly as inflated as his, but acknowledging the info would undoubtedly have an effect on it, so you kept the classified data under lock and key. Well, maybe Charles knew. But even if he did, he fortunately kept your dignity intact.

Nevertheless, you’d gotten tipsy humiliatingly early in the night after spending quality time with Ororo and ended up stumbling back to your room, determined to overcome your inner wimp and make something for Logan. You brainstormed for approximately 7 minutes before coming with a conclusion; gloves. Just like the many pairs you'd created for his ‘friend’. 

‘I’m your friend, not your father,’ the idiot stated. Bullshit. Abso-fucking-lute bullshit. You heard them when passing by in the corridor on the way to a class and had to restrain using your powers to rewind that short burst of time just so you could shut Logan up and shove those words right back up his ass.

But unfortunately, you realised a little too much time later— after the alcohol-established period of boldness had subsided, of course— that you were still very much a pussy. Perhaps you were lost in the suppression of the alcohol, because you'd somehow already ended up with a pair of specialised gloves with slits, strong magnets fastened to the edges which accommodated the adamantium of Logan's claws.

If everything fell into accordance with your brainstorming, the magnets would automatically adjust to the position of the protruding metal under his skin every time he slid them on. Damn it, why weren't you this creative when you were sober? Maybe you should drink more. If only you had his healing factor; then your liver wouldn't be fucked for life.

You glanced up at the clock on your bedroom wall, bracing yourself for the ridiculously early time unavoidably displayed upon the aged face. 

10:21 p.m.

Fucking hell. Basically the whole goddamn mansion was still up, the younger kids an exception. It was a weekend, after all. 

After a short-lived interval of contemplation, you concluded two options. You had the option of using your energy and abandoning the project without physically undoing the whole thing; pretending it never happened, or B, actually fucking overcome your disconcerting fear of giving Logan a gift.

You'd deeply considered the first option.

Very. Deeply.

But in a self-ball-kicking resolution, you chucked your own uncertainty far, far down your throat and decided on simply marching over to Logan and handing him the navy pair of gloves.

⁠⊰⁠⊹ฺ

Mentally uttering repeated strings of curses, you approached his bedroom door— you figured that was where he was, anyway. He wasn't in his usual place; the grimy couch in front of the fireplace which was almost literally hanging on by a thread. 

Earlier, you'd taken a glimpse at the contents of the fridge in hopes of a tasty Swiss roll miraculously appearing, but instead noticed the fact that there was no beer. To conclude, Logan was probably restraining himself from impaling Scott and fermenting him into his own ‘Cyclops-made Heineken’.

Your hands fidgeted with the stitches on the openings for his claws, thumb running over the cool, metallic surface of the small magnets. God, why were you stressing this so hard? Logan was just a guy with kitty claws and a half-assed personality. He wasn't that intimidating, especially when dormant and presumably partially asleep by now. He was—literally— an old man at heart. The dude probably couldn't even stay up past 11:30.

Ultimately, you took a sharp breath before raising your free hand and firmly rapping at the door twice. Your ears picked up the faint rustle of a page turning and the brief thud of a book cover falling shut.

He was reading? Damn, guess your old man description was accurate after all. A shift of position, and the creak of a wooden chair groaning under his weight. “It's open.”

You skeptically twist the knob and push on the door, poking your head through the crack before stepping in and gently pushing it shut behind you. He's leant against his table in a semblance of leisure, gaze fixed on the metal of his dog tags as he wipes them with a thin tissue.

Your own gaze drifts to his tousled sheets, zeroing in on the faint outline of a bulky book poorly concealed by the covers. You have to curb the grin threatening to spread onto your face at the sight. He's embarrassed. 

Tragically, an unsuccessfully stifled sound somewhere between a snort, a giggle, and a spray bottle escapes your throat, “I didn't know you could read.”

The hands on his necklace halt as he looks up at you cautiously. “...What?”

You smile with feigned innocence, “I didn't know you read.”

He cocks an eyebrow, scoffing out a dry laugh. “That wasn't what ya said the first time. And I don't read.”

You suppress a snicker at his clearly veiled shame and nod over to the vague outline under his blanket. “What's that, then? Sure as hell isn't a woman.”

His eyes narrow in on you as he rises, sauntering over menacingly like he was in some type of slasher. Your smile only widens. You decide to just taunt him even more, even though it probably wasn't the greatest idea to do so to someone with metal claws. But even if you did get attacked, you could travel back and act as if it never happened.

He glares down at you, head tilted. You thought you glimpsed a twinge of humour behind the hazel, and it only adds fuel to the fire. “Whatcha readin’? Pride and Prejudice? Little Women? I presume it's a classic— y’know, considering your ag—”

An unprompted, somewhat restrained grin crawls onto his lips as he cuts you off, “Why’re you here, bub? ‘Cause 'm sure as hell you’re not here just to ask for a goddamn book review.”

Fuck. Gloves.

Heart abruptly starting to hammer in your chest, you nonchalantly shove a hand in your pocket and squeeze the coarse yet soft material of the acrylic yarn. You swallow thickly, fidgeting with a fuzzy you somehow already managed to get your fingers on, heat dragging down your ears and spreading across your face. Gosh, you probably look mortified right now.

You swear under your breath, fumbling the gloves out of your pocket. “Right—” you clear your throat, displaying them out in front of you like it was a grenade with the pin pulled. A flash of curiosity crosses his features; a cloud moving past the sun. Well, the other way round. If that was scientifically possible.

“I made these for you.” You toss them at him and he swiftly catches them mid-air, all while you stare at the fibre like you half expected each individual stitch to spontaneously combust. You unfortunately weren't Scott, so you couldn’t laser-eye the thing. “Figured freezing your fingers off might— uh—cramp your little ‘best there is at what I do’ thingy.”

He gives the intricate stitching a once-over, turning the solid navy gloves over in his hands. A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips and an eyebrow raises curiously as he regards the claw openings. “Made ‘em for me?” 

The rhetorical inquiry makes your eyes almost instinctively roll. “No. Made ‘em for fucking Magneto. Of course it's for you. Who the fuck else has claws?”

He slips one on and hoists an accusing eyebrow at you. “Don’t get ya panties in a twist, Time Bomb. Look like Pyro jus’ blew a fire in your face.”

You defensively fold your arms in front of your chest, trying your level best to ignore the itch to lift a certain finger situated between your index and ring. “Hey, you're not exactly a joyride to talk to, let alone give a gift.”

He scoffs, sliding the other glove on and flexing his fingers. “You tryna bend my bones? I can feel ‘em followin’ the magnets. Neat trick, though.” Unexpectedly, he pops his claws out with a snikt, prompting you to reflexively flinch and step back. “Jeez, Claws! Watch the face.”

He groans, “God, you're a diva.”

“What can I say? Sort of a package deal with the whole ‘Time-Waster’ schtick. You're way more of a diva than I am anyway,” you grin sarcastically bright.

There's a glimmer of amusement in the green-ness of his eyes, and you unfortunately find yourself reveling in it.

Turning on his heel, he clicks his tongue once and nods in a gesture for you to get on the bed. The action takes you aback by the unbridled directness of it, but you end up crawling up onto the cool covers regardless. “I was just here to give you those, y’know? I can leave if you want.”

He somewhat shakes his head as he settles on the chair opposite your position perched on the edge of the bed. “Stick around, ‘s not like I mind,” the words are delivered in his usual sardonic tone, but you detect an underlying sense of insistence.

Fuck. Was he laying the charm on real thick tonight, or were you just delusional?

You bite the inside of your cheek, scooching back and settling in a little more confidently. “Stick around?” you echo, teasing lilt in your tone despite how much his reassurance affects you. “Since when do you enjoy company? Or do you just wanna sit over there and brood while I talk my tongue off?”

He huffs, the noise more entertained than anything. “Don’t mind when it's yours. Quieter than anythin’ else anyway.”

The words hit you like a blow to the gut with how casual the delivery is— as if he was just making his usual comment on the tactics he could use to get rid of Scott. Inevitably, the warmth already lingering on your face strengthens as you find a response. 

“Quieter? High praise. I'm flattered, Howlett. And here I was under the impression that I’m ‘Most Likely to Talk Your Ear Off’ according to my old yearbook,” you laugh dryly, attempting to ease the nearly tangible tension hanging in the air between the two of you. 

That half-smirk makes its way back onto his lips as his gaze turns a touch more intent, “Ain't news to me. Still want ya to stay.”

Holy shit. Is he trying to cause you an agonisingly slow death? You were clearly trying to manage this whole interaction with sarcasm, but he wasn't letting any of it slide.

You swallow cautiously, throat suddenly a narrow pathway leading down to your rapidly flipping stomach. Hauling your legs up onto the bed and placing your weight back onto the headboard, you try to alleviate the voice in your head convincing you this was something further than platonic. “Wow. If I knew you were this sentimental I would've prepared a speech before I came in here. Gloves can't nearly be enough.”

He snorts, “Don't push it, bub.”

You raise your hands in feigned surrender, a grin spreading across your lips. “Okay, okay. Fine,” you mutter, brushing imaginary lint off your sleeve in a futile attempt to compose yourself. “How do you like the gloves anyway?”

He looks down at his hands in his lap like he'd just realised he was still wearing them. “Warm.”

You gawk at him incredulously. “Warm? C’mon, I deserve better than that, Log. I crocheted ‘em drunk. Practically risked my fingers. Y’know how I am under the influence— could’ve found a way to fucking impale myself with the hook or something.”

He grunts absentmindedly— gaze seemingly too focused on your face as if he was admiring you more than the gloves. But like him snapping out of a trance, his attention is almost immediately diverted back to the stitching when he processes your statement. “I'll be usin’ ‘em. Smart move for the claws. Don't have to destroy ya hard work when I pop ‘em out.”

Sighing dramatically, you lean back against the back of the bed with your arms splayed behind your head. Taking on your usual route, you taunt him in a flat tone, “Guess that's the highest form of Logan Howlett appreciation I'm gonna get tonight. Have I reached my quota? It's a shame; I'm such a thoughtful, empathetic, charisma—”

A low chuckle graces his reaction as he cuts you off, “God, really testin’ your luck tonight, aren't ya?”

You shrug, a giggle bubbling up your own throat— some of the emotion-filled tension lifting off the atmosphere as you get back to your usual banter, “What can I say? Maybe next time I'll make you a tophat— perhaps a red tailcoat to go with it, if I'm feeling real dedicated.”

He glances up at you skeptically, an eyebrow once again raised as he scrutinises your expression, “Oddly specific, Time Bomb. Ya know somethin’ I don't?”

You beam at him, observing the way it only enhances his skepticism. “Possibly. Somewhere in the far, far future, you're one of the greatest there are.”

Special credits to this song for making me push through the final stretch of this fucking fic 😭😭😭😭

[nira-mirror]

Optics study